Just Wake Up
by Just Call Me Pip
Summary: Mary Jane wakes up to find Peter dead-But he still speaks to her in her dreams. COMPLETED.
1. Default Chapter

_Author's Note and Credits: Plot inspired by an episode of Futurama ("The Sting", season five), which is as much mine as Spiderman is, which, as you all know, is not at all. So, credit and a cookie to the staff of Futurama and Spiderman for just generally being awesome.  
_  
Just Wake Up  
  
The first thing she felt as she came back into consciousness was the rough pavement cutting into her arms. Groaning, MJ lifted her head, shaking it to clear away the spots that floated on top of her eyes. She gazed about the damp alleyway in confusion… What was she doing here? Her head pounded dully and her thoughts trickled through it like water trickling through a dam. Fragments of what had happened pulled together… She had been going to get milk, yes, and she had been attacked… and then…   
  
Then what? A red and blue blur… That was it. He had come to protect her, but then it had all gone dark.   
  
But that red and blue blur wasn't a blur anymore… He lay huddled against the opposite wall, the concealing cloth ripped and torn away, revealing pale, bleeding skin. MJ crawled over to him, shaking him gently. When there was no response, she reached up to his neck and began to slide her fingers under the hood that still covered his face, then hesitated. Should she lift it? He'd survived much more dangerous battles before… Who was to say he wouldn't pull out of this one, too? And when he did… Well, there was a reason he kept his face hidden, wasn't there?  
  
But what if he didn't make it? What if he was dying and she couldn't tell? She couldn't live with herself if he died and she had been able to save him.   
  
Gently, so gently, she peeled the mask away from his face, then jumped back in horror.  
  
"Peter?" her vision blurred as this information hit her. Cold and pale in the dim streetlight, Peter Parker lay defeated; the shredded suit a mockery to his vulnerability. She leaned over him again, touching his cheek gently. It was cold, and no blood moved beneath it. The water spilled over her lashes in an instant, and she gathered him into her arms, rocking him back and forth, moaning. "Oh my god, oh my god, Peter… Oh my god…" She sobbed into his neck, shaking as each wave ran through her. Leaning her head back, she yelled into the night, hugging Peter's motionless body closer, stroking his hair, doing anything she could to put the life back in him.  
  
Exhaustion swept over her, weakening her arms. She held him ever closer, weeping quietly as a siren grew near.


	2. The Funeral

The funeral had been huge. It seemed all of New York had responded to the news, filling every pew and standing in every available space to mourn and pay respects to their lost protector, his identity only revealed in his death. Countless citizens had stood, looking utterly broken, recounting their tales of rescue. It had taken hours for them to clear off, but they were gone now, and MJ could be alone.  
  
The stone was cold and smooth, and MJ wept as she touched it, recalling Peter's cold cheek that night. It was odd, she thought, and horribly cruel, that she had never felt the extent of her emotions towards Peter until after his death. It seemed now that every waking hour was consumed by her memories of Peter-the way he laughed, the way his heart beat as he hugged her to him when she cried, how she could tell him anything, anything at all, and he wouldn't ridicule her or think the worse of her for it. The way he always smiled when he saw her, how he developed that extra bounce in his step and acted so lively when his eyes told her he was absolutely exhausted.  
  
And now she knew-perhaps she had always known? -where the exhaustion came from. Why he was always late, where those mysterious scrapes and bruises came from.  
  
Why, why did she only notice these things after he had gone? Gone… It was impossible to conceive. The thought that she would never, never see him again…  
  
"Mary Jane?" a voice stopped her thoughts, tentative but clear. She turned around to face Peter's Aunt May, her warm face tear streaked but friendly. "Why don't you stay at our-my-place for a while. I think we'll both need some companionship tonight." It wasn't a question. MJ stood, shaking, and May put one arm around her shoulders, taking her hand with the other. 


	3. Sleep

The guest bedroom was clean and nicely furnished, the sheets on the bed smooth and warm. MJ groped in the blackness, trailing her fingers up the bedside lamp until she found the round knob to turn it on. The light seared her eyes, tender from the tears that had been unstoppable, sending stabbing pain through her already aching head. Squinting away from the light, she located her purse on the floor and pulled it into her lap. It was fairly empty, and she had no trouble locating the small bottle she was looking for.  
  
Three hours alternatively drifting between painful thoughts of Peter and thoughtless crying had been long enough. Her eyes were heavy with exhaustion but she could not find sleep, lying miserably awake for all this time. She squinted at the small print on the bottle, measuring out the proper dosage. All she wanted was sleep-just to escape this pain and guilt for a few hours. Swallowing the pill, she turned out the light again and rolled onto her side. 


	4. Alive?

"MJ?" MJ turned, her eyes searching the darkness for the voice that had spoken. "MJ? Can you hear me?" A face materialized before her and she gasped.  
  
"Peter? But… I'm… You… You're dead!" they glided around each other, touching nothing. Her feet dangled loosely down, unsupported, but searched for nothing-she was suspended in air, and Peter was in front of her.  
  
"Dead?" he laughed warmly, "I'm not dead. Of course I'm not. If I were dead, could I do this?" he touched her arm and she felt it, warm and light. He hugged her to him, and she felt his warmth all over, she could smell him, that wonderful Peter-smell, and his heart beat just the way she remembered. It had to be him, it just had to.   
  
"What about this?" He took her hand and she felt grass beneath her feet. Suddenly, she was spinning, twirling and moving up and down as they danced on the lawn, and… had they ever danced before? She couldn't remember, but it felt so natural, like they had always known how to do it. Around and around they went, smaller circles making bigger ones, in perfect sync with each other.   
  
"I bought you something before the accident," he said, "It's in the top drawer of my dresser," A red blossom appeared in his hand and he tucked it behind her ear, smiling. She smiled back up at him, calm and happy, barely listening to his words. "But you have to do something for me."  
  
"Mmm?"   
  
"You have to wake up," he said, and she snapped to attention.  
  
"What? Wake…" But he was already fading away, too far away for her to reach him, no matter how hard she tried.   
  
"Please wake up, MJ. Please."  
  
A/N: NO, it's not done. No matter how much anyone hates it or loves it, I will finish this one. In fact, I've already got another chapter written, I just don't think now's the time to put it up. So love or hate away! Nothing can stop me now! flies away laughing 


	5. Red

MJ opened her eyes painfully. They felt dry and sore, and her head hurt dully. She pressed a hand to them and they were swollen, and she imagined they were red. Her dream still lingered in her mind, and she was struck rudely with the realization it was all a fabrication. Sighing, she ran a hand through her hair.

A small object fell into her lap, and she reeled back slightly, surprised. Picking it up, she held it in the dim light coming through the blinds.

It was a small, red flower.

A/N: After some rather hostile demand, and the start of winter break, I remembered that I was writing this story and hope to finish it tonight. Sorry to all that were waiting--I get very caught up in outside things and my writing time gets cut off. I've got time now, though, and hopefully you won't be disappointed. 


	6. Discovery

She stared at it in shock, twirling the stem slowly between her fingers. Surely it had all been a dream. She had been there, had watched as the coffin lid closed, had wept over his grave and smelled the fresh soil that kept them apart. She had seen his face that night, so cold and unyielding, and it was she who had screamed wordlessly into unhearing blackness. He couldn't, just couldn't have…

Already the dream was slipping away from her, in the way that sand disappears beneath your feet as the waves wash over them. It felt so clear in her mind, but she was losing her grasp steadily, however much she struggled to remember. Though the details slowly left her, one stuck clearly in her mind: there was something for her. Something in his dresser, a gift. He had told her that.

Slowly, she drew the covers back, pulling herself to her feet as best she could. The distance to the door seemed long, and she traversed it numbly, her head light with drowsiness.

She stood in the doorway of Peter's room for a long, long time. Here she had spent countless hours talking about nothing and everything at the same time, crying on Peter's shoulder, and even telling over and over again of the amazing encounter with…

So she stood. Nothing had changed, and yet it seemed completely different. The same photographs on the dresser, same bedspread, same color paint on the walls, same stain on the carpet where she had spilled her strawberry lemonade, were all foreign and unyielding. Still, she made her way to dresser, and stood there a long time too.

If there was nothing there for her, it would all be over. Peter would be gone for sure, just a dream now. If there was nothing there, Peter was dead. If there was something in there… Then what? He was alive? He wasn't alive, she had seen him lying there, she had seen it, seen it. Seeing is believing. If there was something there… She didn't know what. The dresser drawer was heavy pulling out. And there, on top of some socks and a slightly folded plaid shirt, was a package. Gift wrapped.  
Again, she stood. Staring. Still not knowing what to do, except to pull out the package and unwrap it. It was a simple photo album, probably no more than five dollars at any novelty shop. Slowly, she opened it.

First was a picture of her, laughing so hard that her nose was wrinkled up and her eyes were nearly shut. She hadn't known he'd taken it-Peter had a way of sneaking his photos in. After that, a picture of the two of them, six years old, ice cream smeared on their faces and grinning as children will into the camera. Then again, a little older, playing picnic in Peter's yard. Then more, and more, getting older and older, some with Peter but most without, her laughing with friends, smelling a flower, reading a book when she thought she was alone… All of them beautifully composed, perfect photographs.

She sat down on his bed, shivering a little, still turning the pages and staring. And then, even though there wasn't a drop left in her, she began to cry. Not the hard, body-shaking sobs she had before, now controlled tears that ran down her face unbidden. The tears closed her eyes for her, and she fell asleep again, curled up around the album, face buried in his pillow.


	7. I Love You, Mary Jane

"I know you can't hear me right now," Peter said, "But I'm just going to keep talking. Maybe it's better if you can't hear me anyway," Again, MJ floated in darkness, the voice surrounding her from all directions. 

"I can hear you," she said, but the darkness didn't lift. She shivered.

"I love you, Mary Jane Watson, more than anything. I never told you because I couldn't… I… I couldn't let you get hurt. If they found out, if they knew…

"If I wasn't this… thing… then I'd never let you go. I'd take you anywhere, I'd…" The darkness shimmered, and suddenly he was beside her, in a room she didn't know, couldn't see. She could see nothing, really, but Peter's face, so near to her, looking at her with an expression she couldn't quite read.

"You look cold… Here, take my jacket…" MJ felt the familiar fabric settle over her shoulders, already warm.

"Why is this happening to me, Peter?" she asked, "Why don't you come back to all of them, show everyone you're not dead?"

"We'll show them, MJ," came the reply, "You and me, we'll prove them all wrong. You just have to wake up."

"No!" she cried, into the growing darkness, "No, it can't be a dream, you can't…"

"Please wake up, MJ. Please. You just have to wake up."

---

A/N: Thanks to everybody who's been reading and sticking with me through da hard times. I want you all to know that this WILL be finished, hopefully today--by the time you're reading this it may all be posted, in fact. Thank you a million times over for... everything, really. Especially those of you who encouraged me to keep up with it.


	8. Jacket

MJ opened her eyes, panting hard. She covered her eyes with her hand, blocking out all light until her heart stopped pounding. Groaning, she rolled onto her side.

A strange crinkling sound came up from underneath her. She froze, dream still fresh enough in her memory to… But that couldn't be right. Slowly, slowly, she lifted herself up, turning her head just enough to see…

Peter's jacket. Spread out beneath her, as though it had been wrapped about her shoulders. After a moment's hesitation, she snatched it up, and ran out into the hall. Light was flooding in through windows now, and without flipping a switch she thundered down the stairs to see Aunt May sipping a cup of tea and staring at nothing in particular.

"He's alive!" MJ screamed, "I've seen him! We have to do something, have to tell somebody! Look-he gave me his coat!"

"But they buried the coat with him," May said, turning slowly to look at her, shocked. "Now, dear, you've been under a lot of stress-we all have. Maybe you-"

"No! I have his coat, see?" She brandished the jacket in front of her, and May glanced at it, then back at her concernedly.

Instead of the dark blue windbreaker she had found on the bed, she was waving her own white fleece coat in the air. Slowly, she dropped her arm.

"But, I saw it, he gave it to me and then…" May stood, unspent tears growing in her eyes. "No!"

And she was running; back up the stairs, back into Peter's room, clutching the jacket as though she couldn't let go. 


	9. Pills

Somehow the sleeping pills were in his room, though she couldn't remember bringing them there. Heart pounding, eyes rolling wildly, she grabbed the bottle with trembling hands.

When she was awake, she was miserable, knowing he wasn't there. Dreaming, she was happy. She twisted the cap, over and over, the child-lock not loosening its grasp until she shouted in frustration and shoved against it with all her might.

One, two, three four five… she lost count as the little caplets poured out like a tiny waterfall, collecting all around her, between her legs, onto the floor, all around… Water, too, materialized itself in her hand and she reached frantically for the first pill of many. Everywhere she put her hand seemed to be empty, but she could see them swarming around her…

"MJ, please stop!" It was Peter's voice again, more frantic this time than ever before. "This isn't how the MJ I know would want to go."

"But I'm awake!" She screamed, looking all about the room for the source of the sound. "You're dead, and I'm awake!"

"Please, MJ, stop this," and there he was, looking up at her from the picture album, his face a mask of worry and heartache. She picked it up, holding it close to her face.

"I can't stop it, you're making this all happen! Stop it, Peter!" she cried, and noticed that her cheeks were wet.

"Please, MJ. Just wake up," his voice broke, and she could tell-why couldn't she see? -that he was crying. "Wake up! Just… Just wake up!"

And the world was spinning around her, Peter's voice fading away, the sound of the pills falling echoing a thousand times in her ears.

"I can't! I can't wake up, I'm already…"

And everything was dark. 


	10. Just Wake Up

Darkness pressed in all around her, like being so far under water she didn't know where the top was. And she was rising through it, desperately reaching for something-she didn't know what. Sounds started to make their way through to her… Words, but what they were saying she couldn't tell.

All was not dark now-a dim red glow had started to form, like light shining through her eyelids. Which it was.

"Please…" She opened her eyes, and was in a strange room. "Please… Wake up." She blinked, then looked down.

"Peter?" The mop of hair froze, then looked up at her.

"MJ?" He looked shocked, but then a smile spread across his face. "MJ!"

It was dark again, but this time it was because Peter was upon her, gathering her into his arms and holding her as though afraid to let go. The Peter-smell washed over her, and she smiled. Behind her came a strange crinkling sound, but she didn't have to look to know what it was.

"Peter, I… I can't breathe," she said, at last, and he sat back, still smiling at her. "What happened? I thought you were…"

"You were attacked. They hit you on the head, and when I… I mean…" he slowed, trying to explain without betraying himself.

"It's alright, I know." She said, and they looked at each other in silence. His hair was tousled, and stubble lined his face. It seemed he hadn't moved from the spot in a long time. Above all, he simply looked tired.

"They said you wouldn't wake up. I talked to you the whole time but… Well, who knows if any of it got through." She smiled up at him, and touched his cheek gently with her palm.

"It got through, Peter. It got through."

---

A/N: Finally, I can say: THE END. 


End file.
